


Johnny's Resignation

by Fantasticly_Anonymous



Series: Lucha Underground: Prince Puma and Johnny Mundo's World Famous Friendship [5]
Category: Lucha Underground
Genre: A little language, ASL, American Sign Language, Angst, Angst and Humor, Cantina, Disappointment, Dragon Anatomy, Emotions, Español | Spanish, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Gym, Juice Box, Locker Room, Mention of Accidental Bodily Harm, Mention of Razor Blade, Milk Carton - Freeform, Misunderstandings, Overprotective, Physical Disability, Poor Drago!, Poor Johnny!, PoorPuma!, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash If You Squint, Protectiveness, Pudding, Some Humor, Speedbag, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Water Bottle, a little fluff, moral support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 04:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasticly_Anonymous/pseuds/Fantasticly_Anonymous
Summary: Has anyone noticed that nothing seems to go Johnny's way? Do ya thinkhe'snoticed? Probably? Yeah, probably. Poor guy deserves a break in the worst of ways.Drago's also there, and now that Konnan's back, everyone can come together as one big happy family! Right?Riiiigghht.This one's rating is T for the brief use of some stronger language than usually shows up, and for mentions of... bodily harm and unpleasantness. Largely in chapter two. Nothing major though. : D





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are at part five already. I hope anyone who's held on to the moving platform this long is planning on holding on through to the end, 'cause the ride's not over yet!  
> Hope ya'll enjoy!

Morning found Johnny Mundo waltzing in to work, a good night of sleep under his belt and a feeling of excitement in his stomach. Which was also under his belt, incidentally.  
He waved to the security, flashed his Lucha ID, and went straight for the gym. Eager to see whether Puma was in yet.

His excitement both peaked and sank as his eyes fell upon an older gentleman standing with the assistance of a cane, right to the side of the entrance to the 'Lichadores only' work out room. Him being here could mean only one thing, after all: Prince Puma wasn't far.

"Hey, Konnan! Good to see you-"

Konnan cut him off with a sharp look of disdain, making sure to take up enough of the walkway that Johnny was forced to stop in front of him.  
"Hey, you mess with my fighter, you get the cane. Alright, guapo? I known fighters like you my whole career, and fighters like you: spell trouble."

Johnny took a mental step back, noting the way The Barbarian had twitched his cane along with his words, wondering what had gotten into the coach. Then the Spanish registered.  
"You think I'm handsome?"

"Psh," said a rather disturbed Konnan, wondering just how... off someone had to be for _that_ to register above **anything** else he'd said. He pinned Mundo for a few more seconds, his gaze intent, before stepping aside.

"Well, 'morning. I guess," Johnny said, walking past and taking the turn into the gym.

"Gringo loco," Mundo heard bounce through the doorway behind him. But he wasn't gonna let Konnan get him down. Puma was- Yep! There he was; doing warm up stretches on one of the practice mats.

Johnny waved. When Puma noticed the greeting he popped up out of his full lunging splits and looked as if he wasn't sure whether to cut and run, or wave back.

_"Hi, J,"_ he settled on, still looking as if he wasn't sure it was the right decision, but staying put anyway.

"Hey, Puma." Johnny scratched the back of his own neck in the awkward silence that followed. Not sure where to go from there.  
"Listen, I'm... I'm sorry I didn't make it to the ring on time, and for what happened after-"

Puma cut him off with a firm shake of the head and a full arm gesture which clearly said, "Don't."  
His turn to say something, Puma pointed to the other Luchador, then to himself, then made one hand into the shape of an 'O', then a 'K'.

"So," Johnny started off, "you're not mad about us sharing the old cornflake blanket?"

Puma shook his head, looking just this side of bashful. Johnny was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of a blush around the bottom of the other Luchador's mask.

"Haha, that's good. And here I thought things might get awkward!" Puma and he shared a good laugh about that faux display of nerves they'd put on, and the two took up a good portion of the practice area with their warm ups for the day. Puma being very ginger with his back, for good measure. His bruises still not healed from the Powerbombing Cage had given him the night of his title defending fight against Fénix.

Good thing no one else was there yet to break up their fun.

 

That had been over a week ago, and _this_ morning, there was no waltz to Johnny's step, no excitement in his belly, and no vim in his greeting for security.  
He went straight for the gym, eager to get his mind off the less than stellar night he'd had. Too much worry in his dreams for his liking.  
As he approached, he thought he could hear the sound of someone already going to town on a speedbag. That meant someone was here before him! Mundo's footsteps quickened.

His heart caught in his chest when came into sight the outline of an older gentleman, standing before the entrance of the gym. A cane clutched in one hand, to keep him steady.  
Him being there could mean only one thing: Prince Puma wasn't far.  
The tension in Johnny's body both peaked and waned with the revelation.

"Hey, Konnan! Good to have you ba-" Johnny cut himself off when the faulty lighting of the hallway flickered just right to throw Konnan's face into stark relief, revealing both a shiny set of stitches sewn into his forehead, and one of the ugliest looks Johnny'd ever had directed at him. Outside of that one time he'd forgotten to tip the wait staff at a Denny's right off the 110 freeway in downtown- Never mind.  
It was a dark look, bordering on threatening, and he had no idea _why_ it was where it was, facing the direction it was.

Konnan took an aggressive step towards Johnny, positioning himself such that no one could pass him, and shaking his head with a cold deliberation. His eyes never straying from Johnny's face.

"You... feeling alright, Konnan? Is Puma here with y-"

"¡Silencio! You don't talk about my fighter," Konnan _just_ didn't yell, punctuating the demand with a thump of his rubber cane tip against the concrete floor.  
At Johnny's full step back, Konnan pinched the bridge of his own nose, not even removing his glasses to do so, and spake, "Mundo, you gotta learn that your actions have consequences. You promise someone you'll be somewhere, you can't just bail without giving a heads up. Promises aren't the kind of thing you give and break with a cavalier grin. To some people: they're important." He dropped the hand, seemingly in order to have an unobstructed view of the man he was tearing a... tearing down.  
"Trust is built and broken off those kinds of promises, man," Konnan moved closer, a very _not happy_ finger coming up to poke Johnny square in the chest.  
"You really messed the kid up. He's off his game and- No," he shut down Johnny's attempt at an interjection, "the Champ doesn't wanna talk to you- he doesn't even wanna _see_ you, pendejo. It's gonna take a lot more than a pint of milk to get you back in that kid's good books, and if I'm being honest: I'm glad he learned not to trust you _this_ early on. Save him from some **real** heartache down the road."

Johnny backed another step, stunned to silence by the hardest shutdown he'd ever received. While extending an olive branch, anyway.  
Konnan wasn't interested in hearing his side of the story, the events that had kept him from attending; the prison he'd been stuffed into and left to rot for hours in the darkness of. And... what if what he was saying was one hundred percent true?  
Looked like Johnny was outmatched in this standoff. 

With a reluctance more powerful than he'd felt in as long as he could remember, Johnny Mundo, Ender of Worlds, raised his hands in acquiescence and walked backwards down the hall, to the safety of the locker room.

He heard an unhappy, "Gringo loco," followed by an expectoration, echo after him as he turned the corner and slapped his tush onto the first solid surface he found.  
Vaguely pleased that it happened to be a bench and not a trash can, he heaved a huge breath and hung his head. His hair creating a curtain, through which the world around him was difficult to see. Which was fine by him. Hmph! 

Johnny screwed up his face and gave the floor a big frown.

Puma didn't want to talk to him?

It was too bad Johnny wasn't British, because he could really use a little of that 'Stiff Upper Lip' mojo right around then. 

Puma didn't want to _see_ him?

Puma thought he'd **lied** when he said he'd be there. 

Well, it was official. Johnny Mundo was the biggest loser in the Temple, and being the 'biggest loser in the Temple', how could he possibly **hope** to win in a battle against cosmic forces that felt as if they were setting the _universe_ against him?

How could he afford to _lose_ when the prize was a commodity as precious to him as Puma's... friendship?  
A friendship he could _feel_ slipping farther away with every passing moment.

A big, fat droplet plipped into existence between his feet as Johnny thought about just last week, and how he and Puma had spent lunch times and water breaks together. Joking and making _real_ attempts at communicating, embracing the language barrier and... forging something that felt like it should have, someday, if given a chance to take root, stood the test of time.

Instead, like little boats on the ebb of oceans, Johnny and Puma had been pulled out to sea and all their lines cut. Set adrift, with a storm and a sea monster between them.

At least... if Konnan had been telling the truth. But, aside from the trainer hating Mundo from day one, what reason did he have to lie?

Johnny's back tensed up, an attempt at preventing his shoulders from trembling along with his diaphragm, which he was trying to get to relax and work with him.  
He could pass off sitting there with his hair for cover as normal enough, but not if people could _see_ his shoulders shaking.  
Oh, for the love of- now he was sniffling! That was about the biggest give away on the planet! Unless he could pass it off as allergies? Not likely, considering he'd once bragged that he was immune to every allergen known to the human race. To the entire locker room.  
He needed to work on that big mouth of his...

But in the mean time, he was occupied enough working on unclenching his fists. His fingernails were starting to hurt his palms. Plus, he was kinda busy trying to calm down his racing mind. Clear it of the foul thoughts clogging up the passageways, the way Konnan clogged the passage to his... to the Champ, Prince Puma.

If only he'd had a chance to explain himself. But then again, he hadn't shown when he'd said he- **promised** he would.  
Maybe _that_ was the end of it? The end of he and Puma's... friendship.

No! He needed confirmation, darn it! Without corroboration, how could he believe someone who'd never given him a friendly pass? How-

A rough hand lit upon one barely shaking shoulder. Johnny's reaction was instant.

He batted away the appendage and jumped off the bench as if cattle prodded. On instinct, putting some distance between himself and his would be- Oh. It was just Drago. A confused, uncomfortable looking Drago.

"¿Estás bien?" 

From Drago's expression of pure discomfiture, Johnny just _knew_ he must look a mess. Probably all snot drippy nose, puffy eyes and-  
Wait! Drago was _exactly_ the Luchador he needed to see!

Inadvertently _ignoring_ Drago's considerate question, Johnny swiped the backs of two different hands across his face, both coming away... moistened, and begged his own, far more pressing question.  
"Does Puma not want to see me?"

"Yo no sé," a befuddled Drago ground out, with no small amount of hesitation. The question _did_ feel pretty non sequitur. Johnny had to give Drago props for rolling with the weirdness as well as he had. But he didn't have the will power to hold back and give him a proper explanation.

"You and Puma are friends, right?" Johnny got a nod. "Alright. Then for Puma's sake, _please_ tell me: Does he not want me around?" He stared at Drago, attempting to will an answer from the only one in the Temple who'd seemed to be in his corner over the last few days.

Drago, who felt quite strongly as if he was caught up in something he didn't have enough information about to be a good person to ask for information _from_ , struggled to find anything to say.  
It showed on his horned face; the unwillingness to volunteer what little he _did_ know. Johnny saw the indecision plain as day, and it made something click in a dark space at the back of his mind. A thought which he'd been ignoring, for fear of it being... correct.

"Has- has he been," Johnny gulped past a forming lump in his throat. Did he _really_ wanna go down that rabbit hole?  
No. But he **needed** to. So Johnny squared his shoulders and asked Drago the question he hadn't yet dared ask _himself_.  
"Has Puma been avoiding me?" He was only slightly ashamed of the crackle that shook his question.

Drago _**really**_ didn't want to be there, with a sniffling Johnny Mundo demanding to know whether things he barely knew about _himself_ were so.  
This would be so much easier in Dragon Tongue. But as it was, he couldn't even use his preferred human language of ASL to communicate what little he _had_ been privy to, regarding Mundo's fevered line of interrogation.  
Well, he _could_ , but Mundo'd understand so little of it that it'd be an exercise in futility.

"Drago," the horned Luchador met Johnny's reddish eyes at the use of his name. It was almost painful to hear it spoken in that tone. One of desperation laced with... heartache.  
" _Please_ , has Puma been avoiding me? Has he been in and just... avoided me?"

He couldn't stand that look a moment longer. 

"Si... pero yo no sé porqué. Él- _Puma_ no dijo cuándo-" he broke off to clear his throat, then thought that maybe, for Johnny's sake, he should try a little English.  
"Puma did not say when I asked hi-" Drago held in a cough, and took a moment to massage his vocal chordal area.

Johnny made a half step toward the dragon man, lifting a hand and looking a tad concerned. "You need some water?" He got a head shake so he went back to parade rest, hoping that the remainder of what Drago had to say would also be in English.

"First, 'buenos días, Puma'. Then I see you. Puma is gone." He made a 'where did he go' motion with his entire, scaled upper body. "Then I see Puma, he says 'retiro táctico', then we," he gestures between Johnny and himself, "heavy bag." 

Johnny's eyes glint as he places Drago's story in the chain of events that made up his abysmal last few days. "Tactical retreat?" Drago nodded. "Why would he do that? I brought lunch. Didn't he want some?" 

Again, Drago wished Johnny were asking someone who was fluent in _spoken_ languages, but he also conceded to himself that no one else in the Temple, aside from their topic of discussion, knew more than he did. So he took a crack at it.  
"Yo no se- I dunno why. When Puma hurt you footsteps, he ran awa-" This time he clutched at his throat and broke off in a hacking cough.  
This was why he hated speaking with his mouth parts! The air always got garbled up, sent down the wrong tubes on the way out!  
Ouch.

"Uh, Drago?" This time, all Johnny got was a painful sounding retch, ending in a snarl and a doubled over Luchador trying to catch his breath.  
"Here," he took Drago cautiously by one arm and maneuvered him over to the closest bench. "Looks like you could use a sit down. What's up, amigo?" 

Drago sat roughly and was a _little_ preoccupied with trying to **not** belch up a hefty fireball to respond immediately.  
Still, through the haze of discomfort and careful concentration, he took note of Johnny Mundo's concern _for_ as opposed to _over_ him. Hm. Most people scrambled if he started doing anything _remotely_ dragon-esque. Except Puma. And Johnny, he amended.  
Huh. Maybe his spotter wasn't as annoying as he came off, after all?

"You _sure_ you don't need some water?" 

Never mind. He was **really** annoying.

Drago, eyes watering, fingers gripping the edge of the bench underneath him hard enough to leave little dents, let out a tiny, high pitched burp. 

Johnny noted, with incredulity, the shimmer of heat waves that accompanied the comical sound, and figured that sticking a hand near Drago's face right about then _might_ just be a good way to get yourself burned. So, he stayed put and waited for Drago to collect himself.  
Or, at least, that's what it _looked_ like his bud was doing, anyway.  
He leaned back though when a **hot** wave of rotten egg smell hit him full in the face, nearly singeing his nose hairs clean off.

"Woah," he couldn't keep from slipping out.

Drago's far away eyes snapped to, and for a second, Johnny wasn't sure whether he should be worried. But the scale rimmed orbs of his gym buddy softened and a couple fangs were exposed in a way Johnny'd come to recognize as 'friendly'. So everything was good on that front.

"Um, gas?" Asked Johnny.

Drago slipped a few more teeth into view and gave a shrug, loosening his grip on the edge of the bench and flexing his hands.  
Before Johnny could think of another 'yes, no, maybe' question to ask, the seated Luchador made to shed a little light on the situation. Slowly.

Drago put both forearms in font of himself, vertically, with splayed palms facing his torso, then wiggled his fingers in shimmery back and forth motions, moving his arms in out of sync, up and down motions.

"Fire?" Johnny got a nod. "Cool!" He sounded a little _excited_ compared to the level of difficulty, but, Drago mused, at least he _got_ it.

Next Drago closed his hands while making his forearms face the floor and moving his elbows out to the sides, leaving the pointer fingers extended, and poked the fingers together a couple times.

Johnny resisted scratching his head and took a stab at it. "Poke? Prick?"

Drago repeated the sign, exaggerating a grimace as he did.

"Uh... poke, prick, stick," Johnny mumbled to himself. He mulled it around in his head a bit, taking the look of... pain maybe, on Drago's face into consideration and coming up with- oh, right.  
"Ouch? Pain? Hurt?"

Drago gave a couple nods and repeated both signs, then pointed at his own neck.

"There's _actual **fire**_ hurting your throat?!"

Drago shrugged an affirmation which said about as clearly as possibly, "Well, when you put it that way..." He also took note of the extra concerned, if not off put, look blooming on Johnny's still not quite scared face.  
Hm. The guy wasn't backing for the door. Odd. But if he wasn't afraid of a Luchador with a Dragon Soul who spoke almost exclusively ASL and Spanish, then adding a little fire to the mix might not feel like such a big turn off in a gym buddy.  
Hm. Maybe Mundo wasn't _quite_ as super annoying as he seemed.

"So, you're **sure** you don't need any water?"

Really? Drago couldn't help himself needing a moment to process just how- that was the _third time_ \- how many times was he going to have to say 'no'!? Didn't anyone think before speaking around here?  
Simple equation: What happens when you add water to a super heated, overinflated fire sack? Right!? You get huge amounts of potentially _flesh melting_ steam!  
Did he want some water my-

In the wake of Drago's protracted silence, Johnny made a judgment call.  
"Stay put, I'll grab a bottle," he said, to a Drago who had given up trying to explain his personal situation to the mundo and was just gonna stare at him until he either: left him alone, or started talking sense again.

Johnny slipped right past the gym on his way down the hall, resisting the compulsion to peek in and see how things were going. It sounded like Puma was getting a good work out, anyway. So... that was good for him.

He reached the 'fridge' in the cantina and pulled out a 'cool' water bottle, realized that he felt decidedly dehydrated from the little... episode he'd had, snatched a juice box while he was at it, and drank the whole thing in one big pull.  
That hit the spot! 

Rather satisfied with that, he plopped the empty, crumpled box into the cantina trash can and turned to go. His leg stopped in mid air, in mid stride, as his mind caught up with his body.  
Something he'd seen just then, in the trash, reminded him of something Konnan had said...

Johnny reached into the unsanitary heap which was barely balancing atop the capacity limit of the little trash can, and uncovered an unopened, unappreciated, barely even 'cool' to the touch, carton of milk. The very same one which he'd markered up with Puma in mind.  
Puma, the Luchador who _never_ let milk go to waste! Unless, of course, the milk resembled cottage cheese.  
Johnny gave the carton a shake, just to be sure, and low and be hold: no cottage cheese sound. This was likely still perfectly good milk. And for Puma to have chucked it without bothering to open it first?  
Things were getting hard core around here. 

Johnny dropped the milk back on the pile of refuse, watched it sink like the heavy, misbegotten, dead weight that it was, and punched the side of the refrigerator. Only hard enough that he wouldn't hurt himself. Which just so happened to be exactly what the poor machine needed to jump start its practically fossilized engine into 'go time'.  
Remembering he was grabbing water for someone else, Johnny took a handful of calming breaths, and bit his lip all the way back to the locker room.

He could tell by the sounds of Konnan's instructions as he walked by the gym that Puma was far too busy to notice him trudge past, so he didn't bother to... bother. Just kept his eyes down and took the turn back to where Drago was still sitting. Still giving him that incredulous, blank stare.

"Here," he said, holding out the water bottle. When the other Luchador made no move to take it, Johnny broke the seal and twisted the top off for him, thinking maybe that was the hang up.  
Unfortunately, that situation was reminding him of something he wanted badly _not_ to be thinking about right then.  
Puma and he had shared a bottle of electrolyte goo in a similar setting only- No. That was the past. Puma wasn't- Puma didn't want to-

He was still just _standing_ there holding out an opened water bottle to someone who had no intention of taking it from him, wasn't he?  
Yup. Awkward.  
Now he was getting kind of worried for Drago; the poor guy was doing a whole lot of nothing for someone who usually couldn't be **pried** away from his choice of gym equipment.  
He was still _sitting_ right where he'd left him.

"Um," Johnny set the water bottle and lid in easy reach on the bench, in case Drago just wasn't ready for it yet. "Ya know -and I bet you already _do_ , know-, uh, if you're sick... you might wanna take a day to rest." He put both hands up in front of himself and raised his eyebrows, in an 'it's up to you' gesture. "Sometimes it's good to stay home when you're sick."

Johnny had a point. Drago might set fire to something if he didn't get this 'flare up' under tight control and keep it that way.

Looking at Mundo with a mite more intent now, Drago pointed to himself then made an interesting sign which looked sort of like the playtime "Look at me, I'm a monkey," thing kids did.  
But no, it was more specific than that: both hands held relaxed with the middle finger bent, then simultaneously one was touched to the forehead and the other to the chesty diaphragm area.

"...You're sick?" Stab in the dark. Almost. But it got him the nod.

Drago then pointed at Johnny and made the same sign a second time.

"Wait. Are you saying _I'm_ sick?" He barely even waited for the confirmation, pretty sure he'd gotten that one right. "Nuh uh, Drago, mi amigo. _You're_ the one around here that needs to go home and-"

Drago cut him off with an arm motion. _"I'm sick in the throat,"_ he said, Johnny able to follow along now that he knew the signs.  
_"You're sick in the-"_

"Breast? Drago, what are you-" 

Drago cut him off again, _not_ getting just a little ticked at the whole **barely** being able to communicate thing, and tried again. This time ending the statement not with tapping his 'breast' twice, but by using the tips of both index fingers to draw a well recognized shape in the same area.

"Sick in the- You think I'm _heartsick_?" His voice totally didn't jump to a fifth above middle 'c'. Nope. It stayed completely normal.

Drago nodded and signed it again to drive the point home while _someone_ could understand him. Johnny Mundo showed all the symptoms, after all, and really should be seeking treatment. If left undiagnosed or neglected, such an ailment could significantly undermine the quality of life a human could expect. He'd read about it once.  
Unless that was heart _disease_ , but- Naw. He was pretty sure it was heartsickness.

Johnny's turn to stare, mouth open like a Venus fly trap's; eyes- oh. Well there was proof positive.

_"You're crying."_

"No I'm not," denied tersely by a Mundo who'd had no trouble interpreting two index fingers being dragged down from your eyes multiple times.  
He swiped at his own eyes for good measure.  
So the fingers came away a little... not dry; that didn't mean he was crying!  
"Allergies," he said with a sniff. 

Drago shook his head slowly, a grin beginning to grow across his face. A grin that Johnny didn't like the looks of. Too... conspiratorial.

_"You heart P-"_

"Do **not** finish that sentence!" 

The look on Johnny's face was just too much for the Dragon Luchador, who let out several self satisfied chuckles. And at least one snort.

"Uh-huh, laugh it up while you can, man. I hope you like knuckle sandwiches for lun-"

Johnny never finished that empty threat, because he was busy jumping back from the hot as an oven, overpowering rotten egg smell brought on by another comical eructation.  
He would have laughed **hard** at that sound if it weren't pretty obvious that Drago'd narrowly avoided setting him on fire. And that the guy was kinda in pain.

"Okay, I think we've both had enough of this place for one 'sick' day. Ya need me to walk you to the door?" He got a derisive snort for that one. "Fine. Ya _want_ me to walk you to the door?"

Drago rolled his eyes in a pretty nice approximation of the human, "suit yourself," expression, and held out a hand.  
Johnny lit up, just a tad, at the show of trust. He took the hand and helped the Dragon man to his feet, falling in beside him as the blue accented Luchador headed out the locker room and toward the Temple exit.

Johnny held in a giggle as Drago growled at security -classic Drago!-, then he flashed his own badge at the trembling personnel and sent them consoling looks.  
They _really_ needed to stop asking to see the **Dragon's** ID.

As the warmth of a downtown Los Angeles morning -or afternoon, or whatever- sun scalded his eyes, Johnny held in a tear of vision related pain and bade his gym buddy, "Feel better soon."  
He got a confident nod for his troubles, as well as a, "You too," looking gesture. 

Then, the two very different Luchadores parted ways, and Johnny realized that for the first time that week, he'd left work early. Feeling depressed... and a bit mixed up and swirled around. 

What Drago'd said, right before Johnny'd threatened to pack him a knuckle sandwich, was ridiculous! Right? How could he, Johnny Mundo, Ender of Worlds... 'heart' Prince Puma?

And besides, no matter how outlandishly un... _realistic_ that possibility was: Puma had made his stance on the matter plain as the nose on his, uh, mask. He didn't want Johnny around. Didn't even want to accept perfectly good _milk_ from him.  
If that wasn't a rejection, Johnny wasn't sure what was.

So Johnny hung his head and hoped for a better tomorrow. Scuffing his sneakers all the way through the park, as he made for home. Completely unaware that the intended recipient of his gift hadn't been the one to throw it away. In fact: Prince Puma had never _seen_ the carton of milk, signed with care by el Mundo himself. Puma hadn't visited the cantina in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in seeing how Konnan's morning went? What was that? A resounding chorus of, "Yes, please!"? Alrighty then! Press that next chapter button and enjoy the magic of the internet at your finger tips! Wazzah!


	2. Grand Theft Konnan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Konnan's morning work out? Why was he so darn mad? Why don't the lights in the Temple work worth a snot?   
>  Find out some of that and much more in this exciting chapter two of Part five!

Konnan felt pretty good the morning the hospital staff gave him his walking papers. He still had a few days to help Puma train for his upcoming match against Cage. Which, thank the Lord, _wasn't_ a title defending match. 

On his way out, he took a little of his own advice and lifted a good half dozen sealed pudding cups from a food trolley. Smirking on the inside, he played up his dependence on his cane, and just as expected, other people opened any non-automatic doors for the 'pobre abuelito' with his free arm full of snacks 'for his nietós.' "Qúe precioso!"  
Heh heh, worked every time.

He coordinated a beautiful near fumble next to a nurses station in pediatrics, and was gifted a reusable bag for his troubles. "Por el presentes!"  
The best part of it: the only thing he needed to say, all the way to the front door, was 'Gracias'. No lying necessary. _That's_ how you play to a crowd!

Konnan arrived at the security entrance of the Temple just as the personnel were unlocking things for the morning. Intent on inspecting the equipment before his protégé got there and tried to get him to 'loosen up; nothing's gonna break and squish me'.  
God, that kid could be annoying. But for the most part, it was the trusting nature that Konnan was annoyed by. He knew the kind of trouble that specific personality... let's not call it a _defect_ per se, could get a Luchador into. Current troubles, for example.

Konnan poked his head in the locker room, swept his eyes up, down, left, right, came up with nothing out of the ordinary, and continued on to the cantina.  
For the most part, none of the Luchadores stored anything in the fridge. Or 'fridge', as many called it. On an average day, the only things you'd find in there were things that wouldn't go bad if the 'fridge' decided to turn itself off for a few hours. Or days.  
So mostly water, with the odd juice box or carton of milk, or jar of lambs blood mixed in there.

Konnan therefore was not surprised to find a carton of milk staring him directly in the face when he opened the door. He stared back at it long enough though that most of the cold air the wimpy fridge had managed to build up over night was let out, leaving the inside only 'cool' for the foreseeable future.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me. What is that bastardo thinking?!" Hoping against hope that Prince Puma, or any of the other fighters for that matter, hadn't already seen the shameless play for dominance, Konnan grabbed the carton and chucked it into the short 'kitchen' trash can. For good measure, he poked it with his cane so that it wasn't at the top of the overflowing bin.  
Did no one throw out the trash around there?

And what kind of power trip was that Luchador _on_? Putting his **brand** next to the Champ's name!?

Konnan grit his teeth as he turned back to the fridge, now certain that he was gonna have to lay down the law with this Mundo character. He could no longer just stand to the side and let 'grown ups' be grown ups, and he _certainly_ couldn't let Mundo ruin **milk** for Puma. As the kid's mentor... he was obligated to- he _needed_ to do what he could to keep the kid safe.  
Unfortunately, happiness didn't always accompany safety. The world wasn't that nice a place. Not by a long shot.

He scoffed, cursed Mundo once more, and bundled up his multiple pudding present for storage in the 'fridge'.  
If he knew Luchadores, and he was confident he did, not a one of them in this Temple would dare touch the "Welcome Baby!" pastel yellow tote bag on the middle shelf. Not out of curiosity, and not even if they were pretty confident it had something tasty someone else was trying to hide in it.  
Which was exactly what was going on here. Puma deserved something to cheer him up, and Konnan was looking forward to the excited face his protégé was sure to pull when his mentor yanked one of these bad babies out for him at lunch time.

"Heh heh," Konnan chuckled as he shut the door that looked as if it was nearly as old as he was and exited the cantina.  
Now it was time to make sure no one had loosened the lug nuts on any of the free weights. Nor put thumbtacks under the practice rings' turnbuckle pads.

Those cleared, he scrutinized every fold in the practice mats that were strewn about the place. Even the ones leaning up against the walls who had no intention of being used until next week. You never know what kind of sick jokes or revenge people could be playing at. They could be targeting someone completely unrelated then WHAM! You have a razor blade halfway through your shoe! Or hand if you were practicing flips and were just a really unlucky person.  
Yeah, it was _way_ more likely to find a pebble someone accidentally tracked in, stuck between two butted up pads. Those could be bad news too. So, Konnan wasn't paranoid. Just thorough.

He gave the underside of the ring a peek, just to be sure no one had 'accidentally' left any giant, flanged maces down there. One of those could give a fighter much worse than a stubbed toe. He'd know: He'd seen it more than once. 

Puma entered the gym as Konnan was pulling the practice ring's apron back into place, and couldn't be dissuaded from lending a hand in getting his trainer back to his feet. 

_"Nothing booby trapped?"_ Puma couldn't help but smirk at Konnan, who in turn couldn't help the smirk reaching his own face when he saw the fresh cover job the younger Luchador had done that morning.

"Yeah, the gym has the 'all clear', then he pointed at Puma's neck, "Did you set that with _baby powder_? I can smell it from here, chico," he explained, in response to the incredulous eyes he got directed at him.

_"Was the only **powder** I could find!"_ Signed rather defensively.

"If that's all you could find, I'm pretty sure you were looking in the wrong place, mijo." Konnan kept the most serious face he could, so as not to offend his obviously out of his element fighter.  
He _couldn't_ see the bruise, after all. So, points for effort.  
"Well, you ready to get started? We got these last two weeks each off slow, so we gotta hit it hard to get you prepped for this coming match."

Puma nodded and popped off a salute, neither of them sure whether his form was atrocious, but entertained either way.

"Good. Speed bag, órale!" He said, a note of encouragement coloring his mock order.  
He watched Puma stalk over to the little balloon shaped bag, as if the thing was a bird he was intent on surprising, and stayed long enough to make sure the kid was utilizing proper form, before he schlepped his body out into the gloom of the hallway.  
Johnny Mundo was usually in about that time, and he was gonna put the fear of Konnan into the idiota before he went anywhere _near_ his fighter. Puma needed to concentrate on his upcoming fight, not on whatever Johnny Mundo had cooked up for him. For his own safety.

So while Puma banged away on the speed bag, rhythmic punts and bounces coming fast and loud enough and taking up enough of his attention that it was all he could hear, Konnan ran a line of interference that tore down any hope Mundo may have had to mess with his Luchador further.  
That day, at least.

What he couldn't have figured, based on his own past experiences and his preconceptions of the long time wrestler, was that Johnny Mundo had had no intention of 'messing' with the Prince.  
He probably should, on the other hand, have been able to guess that not seeing Johnny, not being forced to _hear_ from the man himself, wasn't gonna make Puma any less broken up over the whole stinking mess that their acquaintanceship had crashed, burned, and smoldered into. If anything, Puma was more distracted after his first good work day that week _because_ he hadn't seen Mundo.

The banana pudding snack at lunch had definitely taken his mind off maudlin affairs, though not for quite as long as Konnan had hoped.

He oversaw the rest of the week's worth of preparations, having Puma spar with anyone who'd step up to the plate with the Champ, and overall keeping the Luchador busy enough that by all means; he shouldn't have been _able_ to be distracted.

Konnan should have known by then though, that Puma does what others say is impossible. So the kid managed to be off kilter and despondent all the way up to the hour of the big fight.  
Needless to say: the fight did not end well. 

Konnan threw in the towel, many would say far too early, but he _knew_ his fighter, and his fighter just wasn't up for that fight that night.  
The prep had been good, though nowhere near great, and he'd made sure Puma's conditioning had been spot on, but there was something... unresolved eating away at the Champ's eyes that pushed the possibility of a clean victory far off and away. 

It wasn't the missing Championship Belt, which Cage had paraded around the ring like a brand new, feather boa, nor was it the despondency of a low level sickness. Something else was eating at the Prince and Konnan was intent on denying the evidence pointing in a certain other Luchador's direction for as long as possible.

But when Johnny Mundo himself approached him the morning following the loss to Cage with an unorthodox proposition; Konnan realized that he couldn't afford to refuse.  
He was gonna have to accept Mundo's help. For Puma's sake.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaah! Unorthodox? What in blue blazes could that mean? Does it spell- eh, it's not alphabet soup. How could it 'spell' anything?  
> Hope ya'll enjoyed the sharp turns and bumps that make up part five! Note: It's easier to hold on if you're wearing the provided seat belt.  
> Oh, yes! Please do stop by again when part 6 comes to a screen near you, if you'd like to see what Johnny Mundo has in store for the floundering Champ! And Konnan!  
> Till next time,  
> ~Anonymous


End file.
